


The Thimble Collection

by Nagaem_C



Series: The Sewing Box: Needles and Pins One-Shots [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Love, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagaem_C/pseuds/Nagaem_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My friend and beta <b>solrosan</b> dared me to a challenge: considering my normally loquacious nature, could I successfully constrain myself to a shorter form?<br/>This is the end result: a series of seventeen 100-word drabbles from the perspectives of all the Needles and Pins characters. (Just enough of each to fill a thimble in the Sewing Box.) It begins just after <i>A Thread To Hold</i> and continues chronologically through the entirety of <i>The Ravelled Edges</i>; most of the drabbles can be associated with a particular point in the larger story.<br/>I don't think I've quite caught the short-form bug, but hopefully some of you might find these entertaining! :)<br/><b>Concurrent with The Ravelled Edges; NOT a stand-alone!</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thimble Collection

  
**The Thimble Collection**  


.

 

  
**1\. MYCROFT: Briefing**  
_(5 January 2015)_

.

 

"Where are we on the Belgian situation?"

She taps her tablet's screen. "Running smoothly, sir."

I nod, satisfied. "Falcon?"

"Twelve hours."

" _Splendid._ And Mr Dwyer? Landed yet?"

"I'm monitoring the terminal myself, but Dwyer's flight is delayed..." Her lips purse; her head lowers fractionally.

The hesitation rankles. "Yes?"

"It's—your brother, sir." Still reticent. Amy so rarely is.

I set my tea aside. "Show me."

I see Doctor Watson. Crutch, limp: minor sprain. Sherlock with their luggage, brisk, eager—they move together. Brushing shoulders, tilting heads. Unprecedented tenderness.

Returned from overseas, a _couple._

"My, my," I breathe. "This _is_ unexpected."

 

.

 

  
**2\. MIRIAM: Intuition**  
_(1 April 2015)_

.

 

I always wondered about my boys. Honestly, I still worry about Mykey: such a _stressful_ position, and only Astrid to look after him...

Such a relief, when Sherlock finally called. We made reservations right away; I had Cliff's tux cleaned.

Tonight, I could see right away what he admired. John's a fine, upstanding man, so protective and careful.

And the light in his eyes whenever Sherlock spoke—the way they turned, each a magnet pulled to the other's true north—the care in every word...

I squeezed Cliff's hand under the table.

My baby boy will be okay, after all.

 

.

 

  
**3\. SALLY: Loner**  
_(15 April 2015)_

.

 

I tease my boss for not having a social life; truth is, I'm not much better.

When he pushed me to tell him about Mum, I realised I hadn't really told anyone else. Who to tell? I'm a cop; chatty girlfriends are hard to come by. Hannah's asking about setting me up on a date—her friend's got a footballer cousin—but...

Well, I saw what love's done for _Greg,_ tonight. Past and present, he's had it rough.

This American bird, she could be good for him...or maybe it'll be heartbreak, in the end.

We're a lot alike, me and Greg.

 

.

 

  
**4\. JOHN: Savage**  
_(11 May 2015)_

.

 

"Never mind, all right? Forget about it."

I pat Sherlock's shoulder and stand, making a fast escape. Can't let him deduce me, now.

Breathing shallowly, I lock my bedroom door. The shape of that scar—seared into my eyelids, prickling—I bite my lip, squeeze back tears.

The past is unchangeable, but...I wasn't _there._ He was in danger, pain; he should have been _mine to protect!_

I punch my pillow into the mattress—two, three times. Hard.

_Harder._

I want to hit something _(someone)_ that won't give way; I want to _hurt._

But Sherlock would know.

_He always does._

 

.

 

  
**5\. CLIFTON: Audience**  
_(16 May 2015)_

.

 

It takes a great deal of patience to lie in a hospital bed, I find.

Eight days into two weeks' stay, not even pretty young nurses pretending to flirt remain an amusement. Mycroft brings Miri by frequently; he rarely lingers, himself, but I can't blame him. He's so busy, after all.

Truly, it's Sherlock who surprises me.

On odd days he and John pass afternoons with me, chatting. If I bore him, he hides it well.

On even days, he slinks in after visiting hours, alone and secretive, and reads to me. Dear boy.

 _Robinson Crusoe_ has never captivated so.

 

.

 

  
**6\. LIZ: Breakfast**  
_(18 May 2015)_

.

 

It was a bit mischievous of me, maybe, letting myself into the flat today. But I wasn't lying about my hotel room's lack of floor space.

Anna's relying on me for an informed opinion, and I believe in thoroughly testing the waters; I wanted to know how Greg handles surprises.

The answer: adorably. With eggs.

For three days now, I've watched them, together and apart. When he's not staring sad-eyed into space—I don't think he's caught me noticing—Greg utterly devotes himself to her. And Anna's more than smitten; she _belongs_ here. That much is clear.

(Bonus points—the eggs were delicious.)

 

.

 

  
**7\. MOLLY: Connection**  
_(11 June 2015)_

.

 

Greg has good timing: my phone buzzes as I'm peeling off bloody gloves for an overdue break. It's case related, not a friendly hello, but I don't mind. He's always focused like that. I check files, reply, then walk upstairs.

The smoking patio's empty, scoured clean by rain I missed.

Greg texts again—this time a request. It might lead nowhere, but I sense his excitement and smile. Just one more autopsy before I can confirm his hunch.

Outside, the air smells fresh, green, _living._ Pleasant, but I've no problem returning to the dead.

 _Go home,_ I tell my friend.

 

.

 

  
**8\. BERTRAND: Disruption**  
_(14 June 2015)_

.

 

Such a lovely, idyllic afternoon; it seemed a shame to return. The sudden urgency afterwards was quite shocking, in contrast.

My younger son so often takes things too deeply to heart, dwells on pain until it shines darkly from him, overreacts. Hearing him bluster at dear Anna was _galling_...

Then Sally explained.

We worried together over silence down the hall; when they emerged, I'm not sure which of us was more relieved.

Greg's fears, today? Valid, apparently, though thankfully unrealised.

I do hope Anna isn't easily scared away. She balances him beautifully. I can already imagine her as a daughter.

 

.

 

  
**9\. ANNA: Midnight**  
_(15 June 2015)_

.

 

An all-nighter at the Yard? Never thought my weekend would end here. So much of my life feels that way, lately; I'm learning to roll with it.

The looks on their faces today, though—so hard to forget.

Determined John, caring, competent, his eyes fierce. Sherlock: every emotion walled tight, but looking somehow vulnerable nonetheless.

Seeing Greg was worst. So wretched, anxious, _lost;_ I hold such terrible power over him.

_I never want to see you hurt like this._

Sleep is dragging me under, now, unstoppable. But Greg's holding me close.

They're on the case; I'm safe...and so loved.

 

.

 

  
**10\. RONNY: Observation**  
_(16 June 2015)_

.

 

When I first joined Inspector Lestrade's team, I'd heard talk. Everyone had.

"He relied on his arsehole consultant: a suicidal nutter."

It didn't take me long to realise most Yarders had it wrong. Even with Holmes dead, it was clear Lestrade wasn't your average plodder. And when Sherlock _returned..._

Until this morning, I hadn't really understood. Still don't, quite, but sitting with them outside the suspect's home while they argued over old aggravations was like hearing Papa fighting with my older brother.

There's more there. A _lot_ more.

Doesn't mean I liked being shut in the car with them.

 

.

 

  
**11\. GREG: Hangover**  
_(1 July 2015)_

.

 

It hurts.

Oh, it bloody hurts.

Save the snide remarks; I'm not even talking about my head. (No picnic, admittedly. I've had worse.)

Our suite's gorgeous; the shower lives up to the hype; Anna's ordered up a full English and strong coffee...I can't get my mind off last night.

Did I _really_ consider breaking up with this goddess, feeding me bacon, asking no questions?

Did Jo spend six years waiting for me to understand her pain—or think me unworthy of knowing?

How was I so _blind?_

I've no excuse. My love wasn't enough.

It _hurts._

 

.

 

  
**12\. PHIL: Wager**  
_(2 July 2015)_

.

 

I was given charge of the pot, years ago. I have an unimpeachable reputation, when it comes to arbitration—everyone knew I wouldn't cheat.

Who'd be daft enough to love _that_ arrogant arsehole, anyway?

Two weeks ago, everyone started pressing me to check the book, but I had to be _sure._ Sally could've been pulling my leg; _they_ could've been pulling Sally's—wouldn't put it past them.

Seeing them at that party, though...my scientific cynicism's been crushed.

John looked at him like he'd hung the bloody _moon._

Sherlock was beaming. And! _Cuddling_!

Wallace can collect his winnings...it's official.

 

.

 

  
**13\. BRIAN: Truce**  
_(8 July 2015)_

.

 

Greg's an _arse._

Stubborn; maddeningly high-minded; holds grudges like _nobody_ else.

For years, I've rubbed him the wrong way, and he's blown his top. Lather, rinse, repeat.

When he brought his American girlfriend around, I expected no change. His _ex_ never improved anything! But somehow, Anna made him...bearable.

So I attended his party. Surprisingly enjoyable—until the truth came out.

How was I to know Jo had kept him in the dark? I thought they'd been...well, guess I was wrong.

Tonight, we're meeting; I'll apologise. Perhaps he will, too.

He's an arse...but, he's my _brother._

 

.

 

  
**14\. ANTHEA: Arrangement**  
_(18 July 2015)_

.

 

An email from Sherlock; I could hardly believe my eyes. Asking a favour? From _me_?

But his request—a minor appropriation of CCTV surveillance, one street, one evening—wasn't for himself. The explanation: unselfish, utterly sentimental. _Romantic,_ even.

(I checked Sherlock's recent records for evidence of concussion. Just to be sure.)

And, it's for Greg...I've always had a soft spot. Sherlock knows.

Proper clearance was required, naturally. Mr Holmes' raised eyebrow spoke volumes. Still, he gave grudging approval.

Honestly? I'm looking forward to tonight. No delegation: I've decided to watch for the signal myself.

Every job has its perks.

 

.

 

  
**15\. MARTHA: Outings**  
_(4 Aug 2015)_

.

 

It's been a busy year, for me. Staying occupied in my dotage, I tell myself: my social calendar is demanding.

To the ladies at the senior centre, I've become somewhat of a celebrity. My tenants' fame brings endless questions; I answer what I can.

With respect to their privacy, of _course._

None of my new friends need to know what I heard from upstairs last night, just for instance. Dear me, I love those boys to distraction, and I'm ever so pleased...but, the _moaning_!

I think I'll keep my calendar quite full, for a while...and invest in earplugs.

 

.

 

  
**16\. CHAZ: Homecoming**  
_(8 August 2015)_

.

 

Liz goes off to the restroom, but Anna doesn't follow. She's nursing her margarita and a case of jetlag.

"Are you mad?" I ask her.

"What about?"

"I let her use the house, without asking you. I _did_ warn her she'd probably need to find somewhere else, after..."

"Chaz. Sweetie. It's fine," Anna laughs. "She can stay these few months while I pack up the house. Assuming Philly can wait that long."

I hadn't considered myself _lacking_ in friends, before these two women unexpectedly reentered my life.

Now, the anticipated loneliness stings already.

I wish Liz, at least, would stay.

 

.

 

  
**17\. SHERLOCK: Lexicon**  
_(18 August 2015)_

.

 

Sliding, skin on skin, lights out. Sensation: unnecessary. Superfluous.

Not wholly unpleasant.

My fingers catalogue gladly. My mouth experiments. _Here?_

John pants and shivers; I calculate my next move.

" _God_ ," he husks above me. Inaccurate. I accept the compliment, nonetheless.

I measure success in terms of his grasp on the English language. Hearing him reduced to heedless, growling moans, I smile against hot skin. I can cull nouns and verbs from his tongue, just so: the knowledge is heady.

I silently claim my repayment in sweet, lingering kisses.

The first word to return: my name, beginning his dictionary anew.

_Magnificent._

 

\-- _fin_ \--

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to HarmonyLover, who was incredibly encouraging, and convinced me to go ahead and bring in all of my OCs to share their perspectives, as well. :)


End file.
